by Neil McGarry
“Ah. And so they have no coin with which to pay.”
“Unfortunately, no. The imperial assessors have already secured the city house and its contents in some small attempt to pay off Levering’s creditors—some of which are members of court themselves. The Leverings’ country estate, several days away along the Coast Road, is still being sorted out.”
“And when the contents are sold off, how much of their worth do you see making its way to you?”
Pete sighed. “Little enough, I’m afraid. As I said, many of Lord Levering’s creditors live high along the hill. Which is why I’ve sold my share of the debt to a number of them—for far less than its worth, I might add.”
Duchess sensed where this conversation was going. “That does not sound like something the master of the Oyster would say. The house is always given its due.”
Pete smiled but she could still see the shadow of fear in his eyes. “Just so. As I noted, the contents of the city estate have already been confiscated and are thus out of my reach. The contents of Levering’s country home, however, must still make their way south to the city, and could be intercepted.”
“And you’d like me to do the intercepting?” This didn’t sound promising. Any shipment of gold or silver—assuming Levering had left any—would be guarded by the Whites, the empress’ own guard, and they were not to be trifled with. They were disciplined, well trained, skilled at killing, and would deal most harshly with bandits.
Pete seemed to read her reluctance. “The Whites are not involved in this particular endeavor,” he assured her, fingering his wine cup. “Old Lord Levering had little in the way of coin. What is being shipped to the city is of small interest to the crown, but still enough for a few enterprising highwaymen...and women.”
She thought quickly. If the Whites were out, that meant the goods would most likely be guarded by mercenary soldiers, much easier to bribe, intimidate, or overcome. Surely the remaining goods of so noble a house as Levering would make the effort worthwhile, and a successful heist might help to stabilize her reputation on the Grey. With Castor’s help, she should be able to pull it off.
“I suppose I could be of help,” she said slowly and carefully, “but if you’re offering me a share of the take anyway, why buy my mark?”
Pete spread pudgy hands. “Because it was the only way I could ensure you’d work with Julius.”
Her heart sank. She hadn’t seen Julius since she’d defeated him at his own dice game, out-cheating him in order to regain Antony’s lost ring, a humiliation he was sure to remember. She’d also tricked him into revealing who’d hired him to send the Brutes after Jana, and she was certain he hadn’t forgotten that, either. “Julius,” she repeated in a strained voice.
“He’s to be my agent in this matter. He’ll fill you in on the details.” Pete grinned broadly. “It should be an interesting pairing, and a test of your color. After all, a clever player never puts a grudge over an opportunity, eh?” He rummaged in a desk drawer and produced a familiar-looking square of silk, embroidered with a D. He handed it to her.
She took it as if it might bite her and placed it uncomfortably in her pocket. She was trapped; by presenting her with her own mark, Pete was entitled to a service. Breaking that custom would further devalue her standing on the Grey and might even provoke retaliation from her fellow members of the Highway. She knew well enough how the Grey punished those who violated its codes. The cloak that shielded her could easily become a leash.
Nettled that she’d been so neatly cornered, she pushed herself off her cushioned seat and stood. Pete remained seated, his eyes distant.
Best to be direct. “One more thing, if I may.” His expression was polite, but behind it she sensed impatience. “Why the rumors?”
Uncertainty flickered again, so briefly. “Simple business,” he said with a shrug. “An attempt to drive down the price of your mark so I could obtain it more cheaply.” He glanced significantly at the door, and she decided not to press him further.
She paid little attention to the tumult of the Oyster as she made her way to the exit. She’d regained her mark but had committed herself to working with a man who had every reason to want her humiliated. Julius was petty enough to spoil Pete’s job just to get back at her, and part of her wanted to tell Pete he had the wrong woman, mark or no mark.
Still, the Highway ran two ways. Pete the Pearl was a formidable businessman, but not nearly as good a liar. He had not wanted her mark for something as simple as a job, that much was certain, and she guessed he hadn’t expected Minette to tell her who had purchased her mark. That, more than anything, left her with the certainty that Pete was the original source of the rumors which even now dogged her every step along the Highway.
Perhaps in taking on this fool’s errand she might yet find out why, and discover what could make one of the most powerful members of the Grey afraid.
* * *
Duchess hadn’t seen Julius in months, but the red-haired, barrel-chested man hadn’t lost any of his charm.
“You,” he muttered sourly as she settled into a seat across the scarred wooden table. The Grieving Bier was in full swing tonight, crowded with sailors, deckhands, stevedores and other Rodaasi who worked the docks and had a taste for ale. If the noise from the back room was any indication, the dice game Julius owned—one of the few that existed outside the control of Pete the Pearl—was equally well attended.
She tried to keep things light, smiling at his glower. “Aren’t you going to buy me a drink for old times’ sake?”
Julius glowered at her from under thick red eyebrows, but all the same he waved for more ale.
“Things seem busy tonight,” she said, nodding to the crowded dice tables. It was no idle flattery; everyone on the Grey knew that, of all the games Julius owned, this was the most profitable. The Bier was a rough place, but its patrons had the money and the willingness to gamble. “I wasn’t sure you’d have a moment to talk.”
“Oh, the Pearl told me you’d be by,” Julius said, lifting his own cup, “and I can frune as well as you can.” He gave her a wink. “Better, these days.” He took a long gulp of ale and grimaced. “Getting worse every day, but what can you do? The brewer is a Ventaris man, but the Bier’s for Anassa, so until this Evangelism’s settled I’m to drink this brown piss.” He tilted back in his chair. “So now what the hell am I supposed to do with you?”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I had this job all planned out—well, mostly planned out, anyway—and none of it involved a bread girl who makes trouble up the hill.” He eyed her speculatively. “The talk is you knifed one of the Atropi’s serving girls and took her clothes, just so you could sneak into Meadowmere Manse.”
She winced; this tale was new to her, but no less slanderous. “Come now, Julius—I’m sure you’ve heard worse than that. I smothered the Atropi in their sleep, then killed three guards, a butler and two dogs on my way back to the Shallows.” She took a sip of her too-thin ale—Julius was right on that score—and gave him a look. “Then I ended the night by stabbing someone who once tried to cheat me at dice.”
Julius snorted and took a drink from his own mug. “I never believed any of it. You don’t have the look of a killer. A thief, a liar and an all-around pain in the arse, yes, but you don’t have murder in you.” He folded his hands across his broad belly, suddenly reflective. “Still, you did good work at the Fall. About time those high-hill folks got a good lesson in humility, and I’m glad it was one of us who gave it to ‘em.”
She blinked. “A compliment? Julius, I think I might faint.”
“Well, just crack your head open when you fall down, so I can have done with you,” he replied, picking up his cup once more. “I still don’t know why you have to be involved in this. I’ve got everything arranged: the muscle, the connections, and the information. You’re just extra weight. What the hell was Pete thinking?”
“I can’t say what he was thinking,” she replied, truthfully. “But he
told me I’m in, so I’m in. Unless you want to take it up directly with him?” Julius had no reply. “So you said this job was mostly planned. I don’t like that word.”
He leaned forward, prudently lowering his voice. “Everything is set except getting the stuff back into the city. If we just drive the wagons back through Tradesgate the blackarms will be all over it, and even if they don’t seize the entire load and hang us for brigands they’ll call the assessor and tax us right out of our shares before we ever get it back to Pete. That means bribing the blackarms, which also comes out of our shares, but it’s either that or risk the noose.” He drained his cup resignedly.
Duchess tapped her fingers on the table, thinking. Julius was at least as influential on the Grey as she, and if he had no leverage to get stolen goods into the city, she wouldn’t have any either. Perhaps, though, there was an option besides the Grey. Castor had once carried her, unconscious, from Scholars District to Lysander’s garrett in the Shallows, past two or three gates, without any trouble from the blackarms. There are a few people in this city who still know my name, he’d said when she asked how he’d managed it. If some of those people were on duty at Tradesgate that day...
“Leave that to me,” she said at last, sipping from her cup. “I’ll get those wagons in the city without the worry of taxes or nooses. Hopefully that will carry my extra weight?”
“You’ll get us through the gate?” His tone disparaged. “Should I ask how?”
She smiled. “By being an all-around pain in the arse.”
Julius started to reply, then gave her a long look. “You know, I just thought of another way you can help.” A smile she definitely did not like began to spread across his face. “I was going to go along to oversee the operation, but I think you’d do a better job. After all, if you’re in, you’re in, right?”
She weighed him with her eyes, wondering. She’d seen that smile before, and it meant that Julius held some secret advantage, or at least thought he did. If she pressed him he might let it slip, but that would give the game away. Better to let him think he was being subtle. “All right,” she said at last, “I’ll head up whatever it is you’ve planned. Which, again, is what, precisely?”
He grinned more widely. “Buy us another round; I always get thirsty when I’m being clever.” She rolled her eyes again and signaled for more ale. They’d both need it. If her past experience with Julius was any indication, things got difficult when he thought he was being clever.
Chapter Eight: An odd fellowship
It took less than a day for Julius’ cleverness to find her, at the crossroads of a nothing village called Wayns.
She hadn’t left the city in more than eight years, and it wasn’t until she and Castor had approached Tradesgate that the reality set in. She’d been so busy with the particulars of the work Pete and Julius had set before her that she’d had no chance to think about what it all meant. The city walls were a constant presence in the life of any Rodaasi; their great gray bulk, visible from any district, a massive reminder of the Domae who had built them long ago. The walls that separated the districts were mere shoals before the ocean, and the gates she used each day were similarly dwarfed by the enormity of Tradesgate. The shadow of it seemed to engulf her as she and Caster passed beneath and she wondered once again at the scale of what the Domae had wrought. That portal was wide enough to permit three wagons abreast, and she had to crane her neck to keep the keystone in view as she passed.
The walls had disappeared behind them only reluctantly and even now the top of the palace dome was still barely visible, far in the distance. Duchess turned her attention to the village before them, little more than than six ramshackle wooden buildings clustered about a wide dirt crossroad.
“Let me guess,” she said to Castor, who was scanning the village with his cool gray eyes, “they called this place Wayns because it’s where the wagons stop?”
He nodded. “There are two stables, two warehouses where goods can be secured for the night, and a usually overcrowded inn. There’s also a guard house where the blackarms live. They’re supposed to keep order.”
“And do they?”
He allowed himself a rare smile. “They keep off every bandit who hasn’t paid them to look the other way.”
She sighed. “I feel as if I’ve never left home.” She was in a foul mood. It hadn’t rained that day, at least so far, but the road was muddy nonetheless. The pack she carried was smaller and lighter than Castor’s but still seemed wearisomely heavy, filled with the things he had insisted they would need. If this was traveling in the wilderness, she’d happily spend the rest of her life in the city, thank you very much. She gestured to the south. “But why on earth would anyone stay in some dirty inn with Rodaas less than five miles away?”
Castor rested his hand on the sword that hung from his belt. Even though such weapons were rarely worn openly in the city, at least by commoners, the blackarms who guarded the gate had given neither of them a second glance as they had passed. “The blackarms close the gates at night,” he told her, “and they won’t open them until dawn for any bribe.” Yet he’d assured her he could pass at night without any difficulty. Another mystery to unravel.
The door to the inn opened then and four people stepped through, three men and one woman. All wore breastplates of thick leather, stained with heavy use, and carried short swords and daggers. They approached, and Castor stepped forward, gesturing for Duchess to stay back. Instead, she stepped up next to him. “Which of you is Gant?” she asked.
A tall man with shaggy blond hair stepped forward, hands in plain view. “That’s me. I take it you’re Duchess, which would make this one Castor.” Duchess breathed a sigh of relief; she had been half afraid that Julius hadn’t sent word they’d be coming, just to spite her. Gant looked her over. “An unusual name. I’ll presume you’re equally unusual.” He grinned. “You’re certainly more interesting than our usual lot.” He jerked his head towards the woman behind him, with close-cropped brown hair and a scar along her jaw.
“Fuck off, Gant,” she returned, unruffled. “Like you’d know what to do with a woman of any kind.”
Gant made a pained sound. “Lidda, what an impression to make!” He sketched a half-bow to Duchess. “My apologies, but we sellswords are generally an unpolished lot. As for the rest of us, this is Toby”—he indicated a younger man, shorter than Duchess, with broad shoulders and dark hair—“and this last is—”
“Hello Aaron,” Duchess interrupted, addressing the lanky man with pale skin and orange-red hair. She hadn’t seen him since she’d first met Lysander and his lightboy fellows, more than four years ago. She recalled the day she’d shown him up in catching cats, and here he was, armed and armored. “You seem well.”
Aaron frowned. “Well enough,” he grumbled, crossing his arms. He seemed bigger in the chest than the last time she’d seen him, although that might have been the breastplate. “I hear you’ve come up in the world, though. Been taking lessons from Lady Lysander, have we? He got you working over the johns with him, then?”
“Oh yes,” she replied with mock earnestness. “He gave me your old set. I’m popular, but they do so miss you.” Lidda snorted laughter and Aaron flushed. She’d always wondered what had happened to him; if she’d known he was as unpleasant as ever, she might have been less curious.
She turned to Gant. “So you’re the Oddfellows?”
He nodded. “Some of us, anyway. You’ll be meeting the rest tomorrow.” He looked around, seeming puzzled. “Julius said there’d be two more. Are they with you?”
Duchess exchanged a glance with Castor. “Julius told us the same, but I assumed they’d be with you.”
Just then two men stepped out from their place behind the inn. Both were broad and tall, one brunette and the other prematurely graying. Even from a distance, their loping walk seemed familiar and as they drew closer, her heart sank. She hadn’t seen the pair since the night she’d moved Jana and her looms, but no one who li
ved in the Shallows would fail to recognize the Brutes.
Castor’s expression did not change, but Duchess saw his jaw tighten, and his hand moved ever so slightly towards the hilt of his sword. The last time they’d encountered Malleus and Kakios it had nearly come to blows, and only a crowd of beggars and a thrown handful of coins had averted bloodshed. Julius had dispatched the Brutes on that mission, she recalled, and now he’d sent them on this one. This was what he’d been so smug and clever about.
“Hello, little doll,” Malleus said as they approached, his voice just above a whisper. It sent a chill along her spine to hear him talk that way. Once he’d threatened Lysander with terrible things in the same whispery manner, that long ago night she’d left him to the Brutes’ tender mercies upon the stairs in Baron Eusbius’ estate. “So far from home, isn’t she, Kakios?”
“Oh yes, Malleus,” the other replied gently. “And here’s the wolf”—he regarded Castor coolly—“but we don’t see the rabbit anywhere. We still want to play with the rabbit.” He tilted his head and smiled at Duchess, and she felt sweat spring out along her back.
“Julius sent us to go along with the little doll and keep its little dress clean.” Malleus said softly, walking about Castor in a slow circle. “We wouldn’t want blood on such a pretty dress.” Castor turned slightly as he went by, keeping both men in sight, but made no reply.
“Not yet, anyway,” Kakios replied, looking at her with eyes like tarnished sou. Castor returned a gaze cold as the winter wind, but even that failed to cow them. Gant watched all of this with wary eyes, and his people moved more closely together, fingering their weapons. More of this and there would be blood before they ever left Wayns, Duchess realized.
She stepped closer to Castor, swallowing hard. “Malleus, Kakios,” she said, hoping to sound casual, “so glad to have you along.” She turned to the Oddfellows. “Gant, I’ve, ah, worked with these fellows before, and I’m sure they can help us. If they frighten your old companions as much as they frighten us, we won’t have any trouble at all.”
